


Hot For You

by salixbabylon



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-19
Updated: 2011-04-19
Packaged: 2019-05-19 05:38:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14867663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salixbabylon/pseuds/salixbabylon
Summary: In which Arthur commits arson, Eames steals a box, firemen’s uniforms are hot (see what I did there?) and Mr. Brantwell’s apartment sees more action than usual.  Or: A/E firemen naked porny showertimes.





	Hot For You

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://ladykatiewench.livejournal.com/profile)[ladykatiewench](http://ladykatiewench.livejournal.com/), who is now licensed and ready to go!

  


Hot For You  


Trapped inside a burning building was not Arthur’s favorite way to go—especially not in real life. Asphyxiation definitely beat burning to death, but it would be difficult to get one without the other in an inferno. At least this time he had an exit strategy and a SCBA full of oxygen; unfortunately, the gear also came with a radio on which Eames would not shut up.

Furthermore, this was not Arthur’s favorite kind of job, and it hadn’t been ever since the outset. He didn’t like being rushed on data analysis, he didn’t like getting caught up in a client’s overly-emotional attempt at revenge, and he especially didn’t like when his Plans A, B, C, and D had all been blown to shit and he was left with a last-minute Plan E from Eames: break into a burning building and steal the information in real fucking life, with no kick to wake you up once your flesh started to melt.

He did rather like the money though, which Eames had bullied the client into doubling once using the PASIV had stopped being an option.

Also, he did _not_ like working with Eames. He did seem to be doing it rather often, though.

“Got it,” Eames said as the safe finally popped open. He reached in and grabbed the long, narrow metal box, fumbled for a moment to remove a glove, and opened it to confirm the mark’s goods were intact. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he muttered, closing the box and getting his glove back on.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Idiot. Come on; let’s go.” They were the only ones left in the building; the real fire squad was outside, partially keeping the flames from spreading and letting the fire burn itself out now that everyone had been evacuated, and partially doing a surround-and-drown. The brick and concrete structure was sound but the flames were too aggressive; when Arthur set a fire, he didn’t mess around.

They managed to get up to the roof without being seen, and then there was enough smoke to hide their jump to the next rooftop. By the time Arthur had followed Eames inside and down three levels the adrenaline was starting to wear off. He was drenched with sweat, uncomfortable in his heavy firemen’s gear, and wanted nothing more than a lukewarm-to-cool shower with a hell of a lot of soap. Followed by clean clothes and several thousand Euros in his bank account, preferably.

Either Eames and Arthur were having distressingly similar thoughts, or he’d planned a lot more about this heist than Arthur knew about, because halfway down the hall an apartment door was open. Eames scooped up the pile of gloves, helmet, mask, and jacket he’d tossed on the ground to get at his lockpicks, nodded at Arthur, and went inside.

“Change in here,” he called.

As a rivulet of sweat trickled down his spine, Arthur thought he’d never heard a more fantastic idea. Yes, he worked out, stayed fit and limber, and had an inexplicable fondness for Southeast Asia during monsoon season, but this was different. This was gritty and ashy sweat, inside coarse fabric-lined plastic that intentionally didn’t breathe, and he wanted nothing more than to get out of it as fast as possible. The gloves came off first, and then the SCBA and the helmet hit the floor, bringing a wave of relief as Arthur’s sweat-drenched hair was freed. The jacket, however, was proving stubborn.

Eames, as usual, was not helping. In fact, he appeared to be trying not to laugh as he watched. “You look like a little child playing dress up.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. The uniforms they’d borrowed had been essentially one-size-fits-none, and with Arthur’s lean frame, the gear did in fact fit quite badly. They were designed to be heavy and loose for insulation purposes, but Arthur was pretty much swimming in his, despite setting the buckles and clips to the tightest fastenings. Still, he didn’t have to take that.

“Oh yeah, well you look like…” His words trailed off as he turned to look at Eames, and actually saw him for the first time. The view of the sweat-drenched torso, all muscles and tattoo-covered skin, Eames’s ribbed undershirt transparent with moisture, the shapeless ugly yellow trousers held up by thick suspenders, heavy boots… Eames was sweaty and messy and muscled and he rendered Arthur completely fucking speechless.

He hadn’t known he even _had_ a fireman kink.

The Eames-kink he had unfortunately been aware of.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur tried to ignore the way the residual excitement from the job was settling into his groin. “Could you maybe help me with this?” he asked, gesturing at the fastenings on his jacket.

It was a strategic error, inviting Eames to get that close, but he did genuinely need the help if he wanted to get out of his clothes before passing out from heat exhaustion. Strong hands with surprisingly nimble fingers made quick work of the closures, and Eames tossed the second jacket onto the pile of discarded gear, grinning.

“Need me to get you out of those trousers?”

“Hands to yourself, Eames,” Arthur warned, smiling despite himself. “Besides, I find it helps to remove the boots first.”

“Always so logical,” Eames said, shaking his head. He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and kicked the other one forward in a friendly way, for Arthur. He’d already pulled the straps of the suspenders down loose, and set about getting his boots off as quickly as possible.

Arthur followed suit, finishing first. He stood and waited politely for Eames. “Can you help with the clips on the side, please?” gesturing at his waist.

Eames licked his lips. “With pleasure, love.”

Arthur tried to hold still and not think about the way that Eames’s trousers were sliding down his narrow hips. With the way his top half was built, those hips were astoundingly slim, a perfect vee-shape, just like an athlete. A really, really gorgeous one. With his pants slipping down, down, down with every breath… Arthur suddenly realized it was quite important that he finished getting undressed somewhere else.

“Uh,” he said, looking around and spotting the bathroom. “Think we have time for showers?” He glanced back at Eames who was… now naked but for some sweat-drenched white boxer-briefs. Which were pretty well transparent at this point and not leaving much to the imagination, only suddenly Arthur thought that they were leaving _far too much_ to his imagination. Seriously, if they were going to show almost everything, well then he damn well wanted the full unobstructed view, thank you very much.

The heat had clearly gone to his head.

Eames held out his arms in a gesture Arthur couldn’t read. “Absolutely. Fuck, I’d give half my share right now for a shower.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Besides, I’m closer; me first.” It seemed logical. Plus, he needed the privacy to finish getting undressed, and if he had to stand here with sweat dripping down his _legs_ for one more minute, he was going to… something. Die maybe.

He got a scoffing noise in response. “I don’t think so, Mr. Fastidious. You’re not even undressed; I’ll go first.”

Arthur gave Eames a look which he was assured had actually made a Russian mobster piss himself, once. He shook a drop of sweat from the ends of his now-curling hair. “No.”

Eames followed the movement, and then licked his lips. “Flip you for it?” he asked, and where the hell had he pulled a coin from, standing there as good as naked?

Narrowing his eyes, Arthur thought for a second. He nodded. He waited for Eames to flip the coin and called “Heads” while it was still in the air, but there was seriously no way he waiting. The moment Eames’s hand closed around the coin, Arthur dashed into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door, laughing in triumph.

“Oh, no bloody way!”

“No honor among thieves,” Arthur yelled, shimmying out of his trousers, starting the water, and pulling off his sweat-drenched T-shirt and boxers. He was only mostly hard as he stepped under the spray—the extreme discomfort had kept him from getting uncomfortably aroused—but the sheer ecstasy of the cool water hitting his hot skin was enough to get him the rest of the way there. It felt amazing, fantastic, better than any other shower he’d ever had.

“Want me to get your back?” a cocky voice asked, ripping the shower curtain aside.

Arthur tried very, very hard not to shriek like a scandalized maiden, and by biting his lip until it nearly bled, he succeeded in only letting out a small—albeit high-pitched—gasp.

His “What the fuck, Eames!” outcry was interrupted by Eames’s simply obscene groan of pleasure as he pushed Arthur back and climbed into the small space.

“God, that’s brilliant,” he moaned, eyes closing beatifically. He opened them a long moment later, smiling as he seemed to realize that his hand was still on Arthur’s chest. “The water’s pleasant as well.”

Arthur flailed. He was naked, wet, aroused, hot, annoyed, crowded against the blissfully cool tiles, and unavoidably hard. He wanted to tell Eames he hated him, but couldn’t, not when the other man seemed to realize he was blocking all the water and adjusted the spray so it hit them both, right as Arthur opened his mouth. It was so, _so_ good….

A gentle finger tipped Arthur’s chin up, and he opened his eyes. “You cheated,” Eames said, trying to look severe, but seeming far more delighted instead.

“Yes.”

“You’re naked.”

“I’m in the shower,” Arthur pointed out.

“You’re hard,” Eames added, pressing his far-too-hot body close, trapping Arthur’s erection between their thighs.

He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at Eames. “You have an impressive grasp of the facts.”

“I think,” Eames said, angling his head to lick a trail of water from Arthur’s neck, “that you owe me.” His hands slid between Arthur and the wall, squeezing his ass, bringing their bodies flush together.

It was still hot, still sweaty and wet, but somehow Arthur found that he didn’t mind as much. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Eames actually seemed somewhat surprised.

“Yeah.” Arthur wound his fingers through Eames’s hair and pulled his mouth down for a kiss. Those lips were just as soft and sweet and fucking filthy as Arthur had ever imagined. The first touch was tender, but the next had both of their mouths opening, tongues testing their welcome, tasting and exploring as they each stole the other’s breaths. It was messy and perfect.

Arthur pushed Eames away far enough to slide his hands down that perfectly sculpted chest, fingers spreading wide to frame Eames’s nipples. Groins still pressed together, there was space for the water to cool them off a bit, and everything was fine until Arthur realized that the gritty sensation around his navel wasn’t manly body hair; it was grimy soot and sweat, and needed to be washed away immediately. Then he could slide his body against Eames’s, all sleek and wet and cool and amazing….

“Give me the soap.”

Eames blinked at him. “Seriously? You want to wash up?”

“I want to wash up _first_ ,” Arthur corrected him. “And probably after,” he added.

The smile that lit up Eames’s face was breath-taking. “Excellent plan, love. Turn around,” he said, grabbing the soap in one hand and Arthur’s hip in the other, moving him to face the wall.

The cool water cascaded down Arthur’s skin, followed by Eames’s hands, sliding on a trail of soap. He groaned as Eames cupped his ass, fingertips seeking out the crevasse, delving deep to press against his opening. Sharp teeth pressed into his shoulder for a moment, and then Eames slid down the length of his body, crouching to give Arthur’s legs a cursory wash. His hands glided down, then up and inward, encouraging Arthur to widen his stance. A slick hand was soon teasing his balls, the other stroking his cock, a thumb circling his hole while Eames lapped up the streams of fresh cool water from the curve of Arthur’s ass.

Arthur moaned, bracing himself against the tiled wall, hands spread wide for support, opening up and letting Eames do whatever he wanted. “Jesus.”

A chuckle. “Jamie, actually.”

It wasn’t information—Arthur had discovered Eames’s given name years ago—it was permission. The name came out on a sigh as Eames stood up, one hand still teasing Arthur’s erection. He used it as a lever, tugging until Arthur was compelled to follow, turning around. Quickly, he finished washing Arthur’s torso, underarms, neck, and then face, moving them again until Arthur was fully under the water, tilting his face back for just a moment to wash away the suds. Arthur was surprised that Eames held him there, though, moving in for a kiss as his fingers wound through Arthur’s wet hair, scrubbing lightly at his scalp as their lips rejoined, water streaming down their faces and into their mouths, cool and delicious.

Eames was still dirty though, and that would not do. Without interrupting their wet licks into each other’s mouths, Arthur found the soap. Indulgently, half-fondling and half-washing, he cleaned everything he could touch as their bodies twisted and slid against each other. Soon they were both breathless. Eames moaned, strong arms pulling Arthur close for a slow grind, their pricks sliding together, slick hardness and still-warm skin. Arthur moaned too.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Eames murmured, licking a steam of water from Arthur’s collarbone. Licking turned into nibbling and then gentle biting, as Arthur squirmed against him, gasping with pleasure.

“Enough,” he protested, using his hands to push Eames against the far wall. Before he could object, Arthur knelt onto the tile, taking Eames’s cock in one hand and guiding it to his mouth. He teased—absolutely—letting the stream from the shower hit the length of Eames’s cock, using his tongue to play with water and skin. And tormenting Eames, of course; that had always been one of Arthur’s favorite secret pleasures.

He waited until Eames’s thighs were trembling before taking it into his mouth, circling his tongue, pressing against the best spots, taking it deep and then backing off to tease just the crown. Letting the contrast of the cool air and his hot mouth make Eames jerk against the hand Arthur was using to restrain him, until Eames was gasping and desperate, almost there.

Arthur pulled back, hand working the throbbing length, keeping Eames right where he wanted him. “Come for me,” he ordered, voice tightly controlled, authoritative, because he knew Eames would like it. “Come all over my chest, Jamie, get me filthy and dirty and covered with—”

Eames’s strangled yell drowned out the last words as he shot hot fluid all over Arthur’s body. His tipped-back head and squeezed-shut eyes meant that he missed most of his own show, but Eames got his eyes open in time to see the mess he had made before the shower washed it all away.

His grin of delight made it possible for Arthur to ignore the demands of his own body for a few moments longer.

“Come up here.” Eames tugged feebly at Arthur until he stood upward, pulling him close for a sloppy, panting kiss. “Bloody hot,” he murmured. “You always impress me, you know.”

It was ridiculous how pleased his words made Arthur feel, like a puppy patted on the head for doing a good job. Only sexy, somehow, because he frankly _enjoyed_ the effort of trying to surprise and impress and triumph over Eames. Not in a mean way, although it often had those overtones, but as a game. They’d been playing for a long time now, and at least for today’s match, Arthur was winning.

“You going to try to impress _me_ any time soon?” he asked as dryly as he could, rubbing his very-much-still-hard cock against Eames’s hip.

Eames ginned. “Of course, love; what would you like?”

Arthur had a vision of fucking those soft, full lips, sliding his cock inside that clever-tongued mouth, making it even fuller and more pink… His hips jerked against Eames’s solidness... which he’d also love to have under his hands, his mouth, Eames spread out underneath him, arching back into every thrust and begging for more as Arthur rode him hard….

Eames chuckled. “You’re taking too long. Turn around.”

Arthur found his face pressed against the tiles again, Eames behind him, sliding down his body with an endless stream of admiration for Arthur’s lean body, tight ass, and the expensive clothes that showed them off in what Eames apparently thought was the best sort of tease.

“Next time I’m going to undress you, button by button, strip you down until you’re bare to me... Maybe leave your tie on, so you feel the silk against your chest, touch you with it, and every time you wear it in the future, you’ll think of me fucking you, smell the slight scent of sex as you knot it around your throat, pretending to be so in control….”

Arthur wasn’t sure whether it was what Eames was describing or the “next time” that made him shudder. Perhaps both.

Or perhaps the tongue that was silent now, but retracing a path down his spine, Eames apparently resuming his earlier position, kneeling as he spread open Arthur’s ass and dove in. He wasn’t licking up water now, or if he was, it was incidental rather than the tease it had been before. Arthur’s eyes shut as he let go, surrendering to the feeling of Eames licking him open.

One hand went to Arthur’s throbbing cock and started to stroke, while long, deft fingers on the other pressed inward, slick and smooth. Arthur helpfully reached back and held his cheeks apart, letting the tiled wall take his weight. He thought he heard a muffled word of gratitude, under the pounding of blood in his ears as Eames’s glorious fingers massaged his prostate, relentless.

“Oh God.” Arthur’s fingers dug into his own ass, trying to stay upright as his knees threatened to buckle, trying not to fucking _howl_ as the orgasm raced through him, pulled out of his jerking body by Eames’s clever, clever hands. He failed on both counts, slipping, held up only by the wall and Eames, sound bouncing off tile and glass as his ass clenched and pleasure shot through his entire body.

Several minutes later, Arthur opened his eyes. “Oh God,” he said again.

Eames had stood, still pressed up against Arthur—not that there was much choice in the small stall—but in a friendly way, helping him stay on his feet while he regained his breath. “Yes, darling?” he asked with a very satisfied smirk.

Arthur was saved from having to respond by the water suddenly going ice-cold. Accompanied by quite a lot of swearing and fumbling, they got it shut off, found towels, and dried off. Arthur rolled his eyes when Eames went into the bedroom of the poor man whose shower they’d just had sex in, and added to the insult by swiping two T-shirts, a pair of ratty track pants, and a pair of jeans that had evidently been used to paint something beige. He raised an eyebrow in mild protest, but knew Eames was right; the grungier they were dressed, the less likely they were to attract attention.

Eames helpfully shoved their discarded firefighting gear into two trash bags, the borrowed jeans sliding down his hips with every motion. Knowing there was nothing underneath made Arthur’s so-recently-sated dick indicate its ability for a second round, should Arthur wish it. Which he did.

“Ready to go?” Eames asked, sliding the narrow metal box they’d stolen into his garbage bag, carefully wrapped in his discarded sweaty undershirt and briefs.

“I feel like we should leave our host a thank you note. Or an apology,” Arthur mused, taking one last look around.

“I’m sure Mr. Timothy Brantwell, subscriber of _Cooking Light_ , frequent patron of Hooters from the coupons on his fridge, and obvious bachelor, would be thrilled to know his flat had finally seen some very hot action.”

Arthur twitched, wanting to say something but not sure how or what. It could easily be a one-off; there was a lot of adrenaline involved in breaking into a building _during a fucking fire_. Just because Eames had said “next time” while they were naked and slippery didn’t necessarily mean anything.

“Back to the warehouse, love?” Eames asked, slinging his plastic bag over his shoulder. “Then to my hotel to see if the shower there is any larger?”

Trying not to grin, Arthur nodded. “Sounds good. With a mind as filthy as yours and knowing I’m not wearing any underwear, you’ll probably get hot along the way.”

Eames winked. “Darling, I’m always hot for you.”

~end~


End file.
